At dusk Demeter becomes afraid for baby Persephone lost in that hell which she herself created

We used to strike sparks off each other. Our eyes would meet or our hands, & the blue lightning of love

After the teach-in we smeared the walls with our solidarity, looked left, & saw Marx among the angels,

At the furthermost reach of the se… where Atlantis sinks under the wak… I have come to heal my life. I knit together like a broken arm. The salt fills the crevices of bon…

Because you did, I too arrange fl… Watching the pistils just like ins… And the hard, red flesh of the pet… Widening beneath my eyes. They mo… Of clocks, seeming not to move exc…

Boswell– you old rake– I have tri… your style; but it is no use; my d… all between my selves: and though… make endless notes and jottings th… my memory– it is in vain– for in t…

We used to meet on this corner in the same wind. It fought us up the hill to your house,

My love is too much– it embarrasses you– blood, poems, babies, red needs that telephone from foreign countries,

He still wears the glass skin of c… Under his hands, the stones turn m… His eyes are knives. Who froze the ground to his feet? Who locked his mouth into an horiz…

The house of the body is a stately manor open for nothing never to the public. But

‘Hotel rooms constitute a separate… —Tom Stoppard A bed, a telephone, the cord to the world beyond the womb . . .

Dearest man-in-the-moon, ever since our lunch of cheese & moonjuice on the far side of the sun, I have walked the craters of New…

You-the purest pleasure of my life, the split pit that proves the ripeness of the fruit,

For centuries we have lain like this, our warmths intermingled, our hearts beating the same two-step,

I want to understand the steep thi… that climbs ladders in your throat… I can’t make sense of you. Everywhere I look you’re there— a vast landmark, a volcano